Best Friends
by Osidiano
Summary: Another quick drabble for the pw kinkmeme: the prompt was Phoenix punching Edgeworth in the face, but easy on the angst. Which is why this happened while they were in grade school over something so unimportant that it grew to define a relationship.


**Disclaimer/Notes:** I do not own any of the Phoenix Wright games, or either of the characters here. They belong to Capcom, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (duh) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. This story contains absolutely nothing that would need a warning, except that it is **unbeta'd**. Enjoy.

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Best Friends  
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Miles Edgeworth was surprised to see that a boy with such a small, timid mouth could frown so deeply. He knew that the boy could smile; he usually saw those trembling lips spread in a broad grin, the action scrunching up the rest of his face and reducing his normally watery eyes to squinting slits. Still, Miles had known the boy for two weeks now, and—aside from the routine, daily sobfests—he could not remember ever seeing him look so thoughtful and upset. The boy was waiting out by the front gate after school, his tattered and worn down backpack on the ground by his feet. Miles looked around for someone else, possibly that slacker Larry, but there was no one else that the boy could have been waiting for.

"Phoenix? Are you. . ." he trailed off, his teeth coming down to nibble on his lower lip apprehensively. How had he been going to finish that sentence? Are you okay, hurt, dying from cancer? Are you being accused of murdering Larry since he didn't show up to class today or of stealing the teacher's apple right off her desk during recess? _Are you about to cry all over my shoulder again for no logical reason_?! Miles couldn't bring himself to finish, and just gestured lamely toward the other fourth grader in hopes that what he could not put into words would be communicated through some meager form of body language. Phoenix Wright just sniffled miserably and rubbed at the underside of his nose with the back of one hand.

They stood there in front of the gate silently for what felt like an eternity. Miles glanced over to the loading zone just down the street, despairing over the obvious absence of Mr. Edgeworth's car. Just great: the _one_ day that his father is late to pick him up. . . It occurred to him then that Phoenix may have still been mad from earlier in class. Miles cleared his throat loudly, fidgeting with his little bowtie as he sought for the proper thing to say.

"Look, I'm really sorry that—"

"No, you're not, Miles! You totally did it on purpose!" Phoenix cried out, his watery blue eyes threatening to spill over. He raised his fists from where they had been clenched at his sides, shaking one in what may have been meant as a threatening manner. The problem was that Phoenix Wright was not an intimidating child, not even to a frail and easily bullied kid like Miles, which was really saying something. Miles raised a pale brow dubiously at the useless gesture, which seemed to only provoke Phoenix's fury. "You _knew_ that I didn't know the answer, that I wasn't following along, and you still picked me! That's not fair, and y-you. . ."—a brief set of hiccoughs interrupted him here, and he had to take a slow breath to calm himself enough to finish—"And you're not su-supposed t-to do that to friends!"

"Phoenix, you are overreacting."

"You're a big mean dummy, and you're not my best friend anymore! Uwaaa~h!"

"We weren't 'best friends' in the first place!" Miles shouted to be heard over the other fourth grader's wailing. His eyes widened in horror. That was not what he had meant to say at all! Phoenix abruptly stopped crying, small shoulders shaking hard and arms suddenly limp at his sides. Miles could feel his lips moving wordlessly, feeling for all the world like a fish out of water. What on earth was he supposed to do _now_? "W-wait, Phoenix, I didn't—"

Phoenix's left hand slammed into Miles's face, the hard ridge of his knuckles snapping delicate cartilage to the side. The paler child stumbled back, tripping over his own two feet and falling on his rear in a most undignified manner as he cupped his bleeding nose. Phoenix glared at him darkly and grabbed his backpack.

"I may not be _your_ best friend, Miles, but you're mine and you always will be. Even when I don't like you very much. I'll see you in class tomorrow." Miles stared at Phoenix's retreating figure as the boy trudged off towards home, a bewildered expression present on his features. If that was what all friendships were like in the fourth grade, contradictory and illogical and completely lacking any sense of consequential reactions, then Miles was kind of glad that he had very few friends.


End file.
